“Aside from us, how many others made it to safety?” asked Darrah.
The bald man frowned. “A few escape pods were ejected from the platform and one of the bulk lighters on the far side of the docking array. There were some beam-outs, and we’re tracking them down at the moment, but some were probably lost in transit. The numbers are grim, Inspector. Cemba Station alone had a crew of two hundred and ten people, and there were five ships of varying tonnages at dock there.”
Bennek paled. “Oralius, watch over and preserve them,” he whispered.
“I’ve already spoken to your man Proka,” Li continued in a brusque manner, and belatedly it registered with Darrah that the colonel was here to interrogate him, not to greet him. “Why don’t you tell me what you think happened, Darrah?”
“A reactor malfunction aboard the Lhemor, maybe a cascade failure from a plasma breach?” He sighed. “I don’t know. I’m not an engineer, Colonel, I’m a police officer.”
Li’s flinty expression never altered. “Then I’m surprised your first assumption is that it was an accident.”
Bennek gasped. “Someone did that deliberately?”
The colonel directed the bald man to a wallscreen. “Kored, show them,” he ordered.
The display lit up with waveforms of sensor data. Darrah recognized the basic shapes from the thousands of pieces of forensic data he came across in his caseload.
“I don’t understand,” said the cleric. “What are we looking at?”
Darrah pointed. “Scanner readouts. The Watch take the same kind of readings at crime scenes, looking for biological signatures, energy discharges, latent clues.”
“This is the raw feed,” Li explained, “and we’re not done sifting the patterns yet. The Clarion was close by when the explosion took place. We were conducting operational drills, one of which happened to be a sensor test.”
Operational drills. That was likely a euphemism for running in combat mode close to the Cardassian ships. The Space Guard made no secret of their dislike of the alien vessels being near Bajor, and Darrah had heard that some commanders had taken to testing the resolve of the Union crews by running weapons-hot battle drills right under their noses. For a moment he entertained the wild notion that the colonel might be responsible for what had happened—what if some nervous Bajoran gunner had set his sights on the Lhemor and accidentally fired on it?—but then he dismissed the idea. The Cardassians were watching, and the sky would have been a war zone by now if that had happened.
“See here.” Li indicated a particular set of waveforms that crested from the mass of signals in the microsecond after the detonation. “Do you know what those are?”
“It’s artificial,” Darrah replied, his mind automatically kicking into investigative mode. “You can tell by the dispersal pattern. I’d say definitely not the result of a malfunction.” His lips thinned. “Someone put a bomb on that freighter.”
“The discharge originated just below the warp core,” said Kored.
“Any line on a trigger signal?” He leaned closer, running the display back and forward. Behind him, he could hear Bennek murmuring more prayers under his breath.
“Negative. It’s possible it’s there, but we haven’t been able to pick it out yet.”
Darrah nodded to himself. “A timer, then, or a proximity switch.” He halted the waveform display again and glanced at Li. “Colonel, are you seeing this as well? The peaks here and here?” He indicated two distinct energy spikes. “Those are molecular markers.”
“Ultritium and triceron. Both extremely lethal explosive compounds,” said the officer.
“That’s an exotic mix,” Darrah said immediately, his mind racing. “Undetectable by transporters and most civilian sensor suites. A military-grade munition, probably.”
“I concur, Inspector. You know your job.”
Darrah nodded. “Activists from the Circle have been making noise in Kendra Province recently. We’ve been on the lookout for bombings. I was briefed by General Coldri on some worst-case scenarios…”
“The device, it’s not Cardassian.” Li eyed the priest. “At this point, the weapon profile only fits three possible origins. Gorn, Nausicaan—”
“Or Tzenkethi,” said Darrah.
“Order! Order!” The First Minister struggled to be heard over the chaos in the chamber as everyone in the room tried to talk at once. Lonnic looked this way and that, catching snatches of shouted words and angry retorts. At her side, Jas Holza’s face was an immobile mask. He was growing more withdrawn with every day.
Finally Lale slammed his fist on the table in front of him and the sound echoed like a thunderclap. The wave of voices from the ministers ebbed for a moment, and the man drew himself up. “At last. Are we children? This is an emergency session, and a matter for serious debate, not for squabbling and posturing.”
Lonnic raised an eyebrow. It was the first time she had ever seen anything like annoyance from the First Minister, and from the reactions of the other politicians, it was the first time they had seen it too.
Lale Usbor sat, and by degrees his usual manner reasserted itself. “Now,” he said, with bland graveness, “we have all read the report prepared by General Coldri’s people.” He nodded to where the Militia representative sat, flanked by Jaro Essa and Li Tarka. The three senior officers were like statues, their gray uniforms accenting the image. “It makes a damning case.”
She heard a faint sigh and flicked a glance to Darrah, who sat nearby, his hands locked together around a padd. Much of the man’s vitality had disappeared in the hours following the Cemba incident; he seemed like a ghost of his former self, the easy smile and straightforward manner dimmed in the aftermath of the bombing. Lonnic imagined that she would have been no different, had it been she who barely escaped the station instead of him. Of all the people on the ships and the platform, Darrah’s group of survivors had been the largest. Kubus Oak had already made noises about awarding him some kind of citation, but Lonnic had gently deflected the suggestion. She knew Darrah well enough to know what was going through his mind right now: If only I could have done more.
Kubus was nodding in agreement with Lale. Seated to the far end of the long ministerial table, the politician had been joined by three of the aliens. Kell and Dukat looked quietly dangerous in their dark battle gear, while the other one, the scientist called Pa’Dar, seemed uncomfortable to be there. She found it odd that there were no representatives of the Oralian Way. The last Lonnic had heard, the cleric Bennek had played a major role in the rescue. Why, then, is he absent?
“Minister Kubus, if you would?” Lale nodded to the other man, who got to his feet.
“Thank you, First Minister.” Kubus squared his shoulders. “At the chamber’s behest and with the assistance of my honored colleague Minister Jas of Korto District, I took the liberty of making an independent verification of the sensor data provided by General Coldri and the Space Guard. It is my duty to inform you that their conclusions match those of my staff. It appears, within a probability of more than seventy-five percent, that the terrible act eighteen hours ago, which obliterated the freighter Lhemor and caused the loss of countless lives and property, was indeed the result of a timed explosive device concealed aboard the vessel. Holza?”
Lonnic’s employer stood up, and he read from a padd in his hand. His delivery was passionless and static. “We have determined that the device was of non-Bajoran origin. While other avenues of investigation are open, it appears most likely that the device was fabricated by the Tzenkethi.”
Kell cleared his throat. “If I may speak,” said the Cardassian. “That conclusion mirrors those drawn by my men.” He nodded at the scientist.
Pa’Dar blinked and took his cue. “It is our deduction that the bomb was placed on board the Lhemor shortly after it tethered at the Cemba commerce platform. All records pertaining to the ship’s departure from Cardassia Prime revealed no discrepancies, no signs of any illegal entry or other suspicious circumstances.�
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The jagul grimaced. “The Tzenkethi are well known for their brutal, callous tactics. In my opinion as a soldier of the Union’s fleet, it is well within their character to perpetrate such an act.”
Another rumble of discontent rang around the room, and Lale tapped loudly on the table before him to forestall another outbreak of shouting. “Ministers, we are all aware of the Tzenkethi issue. For some time they have been a thorn in the side of shipping and colonial efforts on the outskirts of our sector.”
“They are territorial,” Keeve Falor spoke up suddenly, his words clipped. “Yes, the Tzenkethi are a dangerous foe, but they’re raiders and pirates.” He glared at Kell. “They don’t plant bombs.”
The Cardassian commander returned Keeve’s glare. “With all due respect, Minister, have you engaged them in battle? I have. I know firsthand what they are capable of.”
“So you have drawn Bajor into your skirmishes with the Coalition, then?” Keeve seized on his words. “Is this a new benefit to our much-lauded trade alliance? Must we now pay in Bajoran lives as well as in our minerals and ores?”
“There were many Cardassians lost in the incident as well as our own people,” said Kubus. “It is insensitive of you to ignore that, Falor.”
“Don’t you mean many Oralians, Oak?” Keeve snapped back.
Kell raised a hand. “I understand Minister Keeve’s anger and his need to lash out. I feel the same. But Cardassia is not your enemy. This is the work of jealous minds, ladies and gentlemen. The Tzenkethi Coalition has preyed upon the borders of the Cardassian Union for many years, envious of our holdings and the many client worlds that we have as our partners.”
“Is it not true that Tzenkethi agents have attempted in the past to sow dissent on your home planet?” Lonnic’s lip curled. Kubus’s question seemed rehearsed, part of a schooled performance.
The jagul nodded. “Correct, Minister Kubus. And now I fear they may have come to your world to do the same, doubtless driven by a desire to disrupt the Bajoran-Cardassian trade alliance.”
“Intensive inquiries are under way as we speak,” said Coldri. “Investigators from all branches of the Guard and the Watch are coordinating efforts to isolate the perpetrators of this act.” Lonnic sensed Darrah stiffen at the general’s mention of the City Watch. Coldri’s severe expression remained impassive as he continued. “Mark me, this atrocity will not go unanswered.”
Kell brought his hands together in front of him. “On behalf of the Central Command and the Detapa Council, I am willing to offer any assistance that I can.”
“He could start by releasing the Lhemor wreckage for forensic analysis,” said Darrah, speaking in low tones that did not carry.
Before Lonnic could answer him, Jas turned to the inspector. “The Cardassians are very strict about their funeral rites. It is a matter of great importance to them that the remains of their dead are not viewed by anyone other than family members.”
“Convenient,” Darrah murmured. “We only need to see the debris, not the corpses.”
“We have to respect their wishes.” Jas said the words, but he didn’t seem convinced of them. Darrah folded his arms and sat back, saying nothing. Lonnic knew he’d come to Ashalla expecting to add something to the debate, but instead he was being given no chance to contribute. He’s here so Jas and Kubus can be seen with him, the hero of the Cemba incident…
“Your gesture is appreciated, Jagul Kell,” Lale was saying.
“Perhaps you could have Mr. Pa’Dar pass his finding on to Major Jaro?”
The Cardassian nodded. “Consider it done. But if I may, First Minister, there is more we can offer.” He tapped the copper sigil on his chest plate and gave a theatrical sigh. “Minister Keeve’s words make me look again at the events of these past days, and I realize that there is more Cardassia could have done to ensure that our associates on Bajor did not find themselves in harm’s way.” Lonnic noticed an air of tension between Kell and the officer at his side, Dukat. “With that in mind, I will make this offer. The Second Order of the Cardassian Union freely offers a support contingent of picket ships for deployment in association with Bajor’s Space Guard, to bolster the security of your system and ensure that a horror of this magnitude will not occur again.”
Keeve Falor and his supporters were on their feet immediately. “A support contingent? What exactly does that term mean, Kell?” he spat. “Bajor does not need military aid! Bajor can defend itself!”
“Can it?” Across the room, Kubus Oak shot Coldri and his men a hard look, his words thick with acid sarcasm.
“Recent events would seem to indicate otherwise!”
And once again, the chamber erupted into a storm of shouts and reprisals.
It was dusk by the time Darrah was back in Korto. The flyer’s skids had barely settled on the precinct’s landing pad and he was already out of the pilot’s chair and then out of the hatch in swift steps. Proka was waiting for him, shielding his eyes from the settling dust cloud kicked up by the thrusters. The constable must have seen the thunderous expression his superior was wearing, because he blinked. For Proka Migdal, that was quite a reaction.
“Didn’t expect you back so soon, boss. Did it not go well?”
“Waste of my damned time,” Darrah shot back, advancing across the apron toward the precinct building. “I don’t know what the kosst they do in that place all day aside from snipe at each other and make life hard for the rest of us.”
“Huh,” Proka nodded. “Politicians, eh?”
Darrah shot him a look. “I saw a crowd outside the building as I came in to touch down. What’s all that about?”
“Fallout from that business in Dahkur. It’s a vigil, or some such. People angry about the Militia using violence to break up the demonstration. They’re holding them in every province.”
Darrah didn’t reply. In all the activity after the Lhemor bombing, it had almost slipped his mind that there had been unrest of a different kind outside the Cardassian Embassy across the continent. There had been injuries, civilians fighting constables. What is happening to us? The question echoed through his head. It seemed like every time Darrah looked up, he saw more signs that his planet was losing its way.
“Remember when all we had to deal with were honest criminals and the odd smuggler here and there?” Proka had picked up on his mood; he was intuitive that way, which was one of the reasons Darrah used him as his second in command. He made a tutting noise under his breath as they entered the building.
Inside, the precinct was an exercise in controlled chaos. The entrance atrium was full of people pushing and shoving. One group was singing a hymn and holding duranjas, the ceremonial lamps lit to honor the newly dead, but the majority of them were calling out for the attention of the duty officers. Some were asking after friends and family who’d been on Cemba, others were just ordinary people frightened by the things they had seen on the newsfeeds.
He saw a familiar face among them, a man threading his way toward the exit and making little headway. “Syjin.”
The pilot turned and pressed through the crowd to them. “Mace, Migdal. Hey.”
“What are you doing here?”
Syjin managed a weak facsimile of his usual broad smile. “The, uh, port authority called me in.” He showed them a datadisk in his hand. “My ship’s been released from impound because of what happened in orbit. Apparently, they rushed through the paperwork and cleared me for flight status.”
“Because of the bombing?” Proka asked.
Syjin nodded. “The Space Guard has called in all available civilian ships on planet, and that includes mine. All qualified captains have been seconded to the emergency management bureau to assist with the cleanup operations. There’s a lot of wreckage drifting around up there, and the military needs all the help they can get making it safe.” He licked his lips. “I should thank you again. If you hadn’t vouched for me, I wouldn’t have a ship at all, wouldn’t be able to help.”
Darrah took it
in. He knew that Coldri’s forces were stretched thin, but he hadn’t realized the situation was severe enough to force them to deputize civilian crews. “I thought the station’s core was still intact.”
“Mostly,” Syjin replied. “The explosion knocked it out of position and it’s settled into a decaying orbit. From what I heard from the other crews, it looks like it’ll have to be towed out by tugs and scrapped.” He blinked and looked away. “I knew a lot of good people on Cemba.”
Darrah nodded, his angry mood dissipating in the face of his friend’s simple grief. Bajor’s shuttle crews and freight pilots were a small community and a tight-knit bunch. He had no doubt that tonight a lot of absent friends would be toasted in starport bars across the planet.
For a moment, an uncharacteristic flare of hate crossed the pilot’s face. “You catch those Tzenkethi bastards who did this, Mace.”
“We don’t know for sure it was them,” he said carefully.
Syjin eyed him. “It’s all across the ’feeds. They said they were trying to assassinate the kai.”
Proka’s brow furrowed. “She wasn’t even up there.”
“That blowhard from Qui’al was on the broadcast. Kubus. He practically blamed the Guard for not stopping it.”
“You saw it?” Darrah asked.
Syjin shook his head. “No, Karys told me. She saw—”
“Karys?” Darrah was brought up short by the mention of his wife. “You talked to her?”
The pilot pointed in the direction of the offices. “Sure. She was here, with another constable, the dark-haired girl. She was pretty upset, looked like she had been crying.”
Darrah broke away and pushed his way back into the precinct.
He found her on the upper level, in an interview room. Light from the fading day filtered in through the window blinds. Constable Myda was with her, working a tricorder. Karys was pale, her face streaked with tear tracks. She clutched a tissue between her fingers. There was an untouched cup of deka tea on the table in front of her. Both women looked up as Mace slid open the door.
Star Trek Terok Nor 01: Day of the Vipers Page 23